


The Past Was Real

by arochilton



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, More tags to be added, hospital fic, it's not willton yet but, it's time for another fun game of "sneaking in references to raul esparza's other works in my fics", post-mizumono
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:21:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1722911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arochilton/pseuds/arochilton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes more than time to heal scars.<br/>When Will wakes up in the hospital, he takes to visiting an acquaintance; one he has much more in common with than he would have ever realized before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awake

“What a collection of scars you have. Never forget who gave you the best of them and be grateful. Our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real.” –Thomas Harris _, Red Dragon_

                It’s gotten to the point that when Will Graham wakes up with a jagged catch of breath and sharp turn of the stomach, he’s not surprised to find himself in a hospital.

                The beeping of the machine hooked up next to him is rapid as he struggles to calm his breathing, shuddering at the twist of pain in his stomach. A nurse runs in, fetching a radio from her pocket and breathing into it, “Graham’s awake.”

**

                Usually when Will wakes up in a hospital, he’s surrounded by the company of Jack Crawford and Hannibal Lecter. He’s so used to Dr. Lecter hovering around him all the time that his lack of presence is disconcerting. Barely daring to hope that he’s in prison, where he belongs, Will stares at the doctor who has just entered the room. It’s the first question Will asks, with bated breath and a catch in his throat.

                “Where is Hannibal?”

                “They don’t know.”

                Will’s realization that the trap he and Jack set had been for nothing explodes in a burst of anger. He sits up sharply, cradling his forehead in his hands.

                “Mr. Graham, I’m going to need you to lie down and relax,” the doctor urges. “The surgery went fine and you’re healing well. In a few days, when you start feeling restless, we’ll get you a wheelchair or maybe some crutches-”

                “Where is Jack Crawford?”

                “In another room,” the doctor says, flipping through papers on his clipboard. “He’s in a coma as well. In fact, many of your FBI acquaintances are here, and most of them are not presently awake. We are doing our best to keep them with us.”

                “What happened to my warrant?” Will asks sharply.

                “Your what?”

                “There was a warrant out for my arrest,” Will mumbles.

                “Oh, that,” the doctor looks around nervously. “Ms. Purnell has revoked that for the time being. I don’t know any more information, Mr. Graham. Even if I did, I’m not permitted to tell you. I’m just doing my job as your medical caretaker. I’m sorry.”

                Will closes his eyes, feeling as trapped as he did when he was in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. If Jack is out, and Kade Purnell heading the Ripper operation, there is no telling that anyone besides Hannibal himself knows where Hannibal is.

                When the doctor leaves to let him rest, Will tries to piece together who else could be here. The memories of that night are foggy, and since there has been no report of any deaths, he is assuming that both Abigail and Alana are here and alive. That’s a relief, at least.

                When Will drifts off to sleep, the image of the stag, wounded like him, keeps him company in the small and lonely room.

**

                Will has lost the concept of minutes, hours, and days. He sleeps when he can, trying to move minimally to reduce the clenches and pain in his stomach. He takes antibiotics as recommended by the doctor, but his eating is not at regular intervals. He just can’t seem to work up an appetite.

When he’s not sleeping or eating, Will reads the papers. He won’t admit it, even to himself, but he’s looking for _something_ ; perhaps some hint that Lecter has placed in the news specifically for him. Nothing ever shows up.

Occasionally he flips through the television channels, or plays solitaire, but the minutes drag on. Will also lives inside his head while awake; a safe, quiet place where he can pretend he’s outside fishing with Abigail, somewhere far away from Hannibal Lecter.

A physical therapist has started coming to visit Will regularly, encouraging him and attempting to motivate him to try standing with the aid of crutches. Will has no reason to move about the hospital, so he persists for now, blaming it on the pain. This is a factor as well, but Will has built up quite a tolerance for pain.

One afternoon, Will is nonchalantly flipping through television stations. The only things on the cheap channels the hospital offers appear to be cooking shows and _Law & Order: SVU_, both of which currently make him feel sick.

The sound of shouting erupts from a few rooms down, and Will mutes the tv and strains his ears to hear. A strained and sore voice cries out, vaguely familiar, speaking unintelligible English.

A nurse walks hurriedly past Will’s room, grabbing her personal walkie-talkie and placing it close to her mouth.

There’s no mistaking what the rushed nurse says, even as her feet carry her down the hall and away from the empath's room.

“Chilton’s awake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will update when I'm a chapter ahead.  
> It seems like Chilton should not have been out in a coma for this long, but don't worry, that explanation will come.


	2. Wanderings

_Chilton_.

Will had, admittedly, forgotten that he would still be in here. How he had been in a coma this long had surprised the entire FBI, especially Jack, who owed the man an apology and an explanation. The plan had been to explain the situation to Chilton and promise that he would only appear to be thought of as the Chesapeake Ripper while remaining completely safe and healing in the hospital. In short, to dupe only Hannibal.

This must be why Chilton is shouting. He’s confused, of course, perhaps not even clear about what had occurred several weeks ago. Unsure if he is still accused of being the Chesapeake Ripper.

Will needs to talk to him; he has to. He’s not sure how much the doctor can explain to Chilton. Even so, the snappy psychiatrist probably wouldn’t believe him.

And come to think of it, Will owes Chilton an apology too.

Later that day, Will convinces his physical therapist that a wheelchair would be more beneficial than crutches when all he wants to do is visit his former psychiatrist.

Once he’s settled and has assured his doctor and therapist that he can handle moving by himself (and that he will start exercises and crutches soon), he’s free. Although he resisted the idea, Will has to admit that it’s nice to be out of his hospital room. He wheels himself in the direction of the voice he heard earlier, and when he reaches the open door of the room occupied by Frederick Chilton, he knocks.

“Come in,” the psychiatrist calls. His voice is hoarse and shallow from lack of use. When Will enters, his blank and bandaged face breaks into an expression halfway between anger and surprise. “Will?” he chokes out.

“Hi, Frederick,” Will pulls up to a stop next to Chilton’s bed.

“Will, what the hell is going on?” his voice drips with malice that chills Will’s spine. “What happened to you? What happened to Hannibal? What happened to Jack? Why are they telling me I can’t leave the hospital?”

The poor man is so distraught. Will reminds himself that this isn’t the first time he’s woken up in shock in a hospital, either.

“I owe you an apology, Frederick.”

Chilton raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry I called Jack. But it was necessary.”

“And why is that?”

“Because that’s how he found out Hannibal was the Ripper.”

Chilton rolls his eyes, so Will hurriedly starts talking again before he can reply with a sassy retort.

“When Miriam shot you, something about that sureness and spontaneity made Jack wake up. The plan was to keep you in here, healing, while the FBI still gave out the information that you were the Ripper. We were going to throw Hannibal off the scent. We had a whole trap set, we had him ready, we were so close…”

“Were?”

“Jack got injured. Badly. He’s in here.”

“And you?”

“Gutted. Disemboweled.”

Chilton guffaws, and Will realizes what he’s just said. He’s about to offer an apology, but then he remembers who this man is. He doesn’t necessarily like him, and he hasn’t entirely forgiven him for the gossip about Will himself in order to better Chilton’s own reputation.

“You’re safe now, you know,” Will assures him.

Chilton looks at him, studying his features. He opens his mouth to retort, but closes it.

“I’ll let you sleep,” Will decides, noting the other man’s drooping eyelids. He wheels himself out of the room, a bunch of pent-up emotions towards Dr. Chilton making his chest feel like it’s going to burst open. Instead of going back to his room, Will decides to wheel around a bit.

Will is no stranger to wandering hospitals. He had done it quite often, even making friends with Georgia Madchen before her ill-fated doom. After a few paces down the hallway, he’s just about to turn back when he notices an unconscious figure lying in one of the beds.

Will stays there, in her room, keeping quiet. Just like before, except that now there’s no Hannibal to hold her hand. Will drifts off to sleep imagining teaching the girl how to fish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised Willton, and I promise it'll come to that soon. I have some fun plans!


	3. Shared Laughs

Will wakes up back in his own hospital room. The wheelchair is in the corner, and so is a nurse, watching him intently.

“Mr. Graham, you have a phone call. It’s your lawyer,” she says. “And Dr. Peters would very much appreciate if you would let him know when you plan to return to your room, instead of falling asleep in an obscure location,” she hands him the phone and walks out the door.

Will stares incredulously at her figure walking away before putting the receiver to his ear. Maybe he’s finally going to get information. “Hello?”

“Will?” it’s not a voice he recognizes.

“Yes?”

“Oh thank God,” the voice changes, and now there’s no mistaking it. It’s Freddie Lounds.

“Freddie?”

“Sssssh!” the journalist screeches. “I’m dead, remember? I sure haven’t forgotten. Will, the FBI is insane. Purnell won’t _do_ anything. She thinks Lecter will just come to us.”

“Freddie, I can’t talk about this in here. I can’t talk about it at all. Jack’s not awake yet, okay?”

“Jack was put on mandatory compassionate leave,” Freddie reminds him.

“Goodbye, Freddie,” Will says, feeling bad for hanging up but not necessarily guilty. He slams the phone face down on the bedside table.

He plays solitaire until his physical therapist comes in later that day.

“I want to visit Abigail Hobbs,” he bursts out the second the doctor comes in.

Once he’s settled in the wheelchair again, Will spends two hours in Abigail’s room, wishing he could do more than be a silent guardian.

On the way back to his room, Will makes an unexpected detour into Frederick Chilton’s room. The doctor is asleep, and Will is just about to leave when his eyes flutter open.

“Oh,” Chilton awakens with a shaky breath. “Hi, Will,”

“Hello, Frederick.”

They sit in silence for several minutes, watching each other. Will looks around Chilton’s room, which is barer than his. There are no flowers on the bedside table. Will admittedly only has those due to Zeller and Price, who haven’t even come to visit yet. The only thing of interest in Chilton’s room is his cane, standing in the corner. Will isn’t sure how it got there, and he’s not about to ask.

Chilton coughs and Will’s eyes drift back to him.

“How’s your cheek?” Will asks.

“As you’d expect. It hurts, but I’ll live. How’s your stomach?”

The way Chilton says these last words tells Will that he doesn’t exactly care what Will has to say. Will sighs before replying. “It’s okay.”

Chilton’s face darkens. “I know it’s not.”

“What?”

“Do you think it was easy for me? I couldn’t flit around in a wheelchair all day. I had to go back to work, with one less kidney and a lot less pride.”

Will scoffs.

“What?” Chilton glares at him. “ _What_? Did you think that cane was just for show?”

“Yes, actually,” Will admits.

Chilton looks like he’s about to slap him. Anger outlines his features and his lip is trembling. Then his gaze softens.

“Try it then.”

“What?” Will asks.

“Try it. Try walking with my cane, see how it feels.”

Will doesn’t know what makes him wheel himself to the corner and grip Chilton’s cane. This isn’t a contest. Chilton’s the only talkative company Will has in this hospital.

Will tries to stand slow and carefully. But something’s not right. His legs are too shaky from disuse, his stomach is shooting pain along his abdomen, his hand sets the cane wobbling on the floor and Will lets out a broken cry as the cane clatters to the floor and he falls with it.

“Yeah,” Chilton says.

Will glares at him, too angry and in pain to do anything else.

Chilton laughs.

Despite himself, Will laughs too. He’s still laughing with his former psychiatrist when a nurse comes by to help Will back in his chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Willton uwu  
> I'm blazing through these chapters now, but that might slow a bit.


	4. Scars

Will has taken to visiting Dr. Chilton at least once a day. They don’t even necessarily have to talk; they’re both grateful for the presence of another.

Will dreams often. Usually they involve some mixture of stags, dead bodies, and fishing. Although they unsettle him and the bodies make him uncomfortable, Will enjoys getting at least a small fleeting feeling of the activity he loves.

One morning, Will jerks awake to the image of Frederick Chilton standing in the corner of his room. He’s propped against a wall, his long fingers playing sensually at the head of his cane. The lengthy coma he had been in has made him even leaner, and Chilton’s hospital gown hangs off his body like an oversized robe.

“Good morning, Will,” Chilton sounds brighter than usual, only wincing minimally as he speaks. He must be getting used to the pain in his cheek.

“Hi, Frederick,” Will stretches, lifting his arms over his head but bringing them down immediately as a sharp pain shoots through his abdomen.

“You have to be careful,” Chilton cautions with the hints of a smile.

“Frederick, can I ask you something?” Will asks carefully, nothing the light nod Chilton gives. “Why do we visit each other?”

“Company, mostly,” Chilton replies, shifting his weight onto his cane.

“But you hate me!” Will protests, finally letting out the confusion he’s been holding in for the past several days.

“I don’t hate you, Will,” Chilton insists. “Yes, I was doing my job as a psychiatrist, and _yes_ , I did hold a slight grudge due to the whole _selling me out_ business. But, Will, you are a good man with a brilliant mind, and I like you.”

Will considers this for a second.

“Will, please,” Chilton peers at him through sympathetic eyes. Will has seen that expression on his face before. It’s the same one he wore at Will’s house, pleading with everything in him to save him, to protect him, to keep him safe. “We have to stick together, Will. It’s us against Hannibal. You were framed, too. You know how this feels. You know it even better than me.”

Will offers a light smile, the first genuine one he’s given in a long time. He can’t say he’s ever truly liked Chilton, but he can’t deny that he’s starting to. “Stay with me,” Will says.

“Of course,” Frederick offers, sitting himself down in a chair next to Will’s bed.

“After all, Will, our scars are the same.”                 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making myself sad.  
> Hannibal novels and Company references are going to be the death of me.  
> FLUFFY WILLTON. I guess I can officially change the tags to actual Willton because it's definitely happening.


	5. Boats Against the Current

What exactly are the two now? Friends? Acquaintances? Part-time hospital roommates? Will ponders this later that evening as he stares at the ceiling. One thought sticks with him: if Hannibal isn’t in America, he needs to leave Baltimore as soon as possible. A safe location would be more beneficial to him until the FBI pulls their heads out of false leads. Will is contemplating this when he’s interrupted by soft footfalls.

A nurse pokes her head through the door of Will’s room, where Chilton has fallen asleep with his head on the arm of Will’s bed. Will had considered shaking him off, but has decided that he doesn’t mind.

“The hospital is running a complimentary showing of _The Great Gatsby_ in fifteen minutes,” the nurse says cheerfully. “It’s the 2013 one. We’d love to see you there, if it’s not too much trouble. Be in the lounge in ten.”

“Frederick,” Will nudges Chilton’s sleeping form. He doesn’t budge. “Frederick,” he taps the back of his head lightly.

The psychiatrist wakes up in a burst of movement, nearly falling off the chair. “What?”

“Do you want to go downstairs and watch _The Great Gatsby_ in the lounge?”

“Um, sure,” Chilton rubs at his chin, scraping the stubble that has grown there.

“You’d better get going,” Will says. “It starts in fifteen minutes.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Chilton asks, gripping his cane and standing on his feet.

“My physical therapist will have gone home for the night,” Will explains. “I can’t get down there.”

“Yes you can,” the edges of a smile grace Chilton’s features. He shifts his weight with a slight wince and offers his cane to Will.

Will stares incredulously at Chilton for a second before slowly swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His body screams with protest, but he grips the head of the cane and accepts Chilton’s shaking hand on his back. Once he’s standing, his legs make him feel like he’s about to collapse.

“See?” Chilton says with an encouraging smile, patting Will’s shoulder.

“Don’t—you—need…” Will’s breathing is slightly off and labored due to pain and stiffness.

“Don’t I need what, Mr. Graham?” Chilton smirks.

“Don’t you need your cane?”

“You need it more than I do,” Chilton assures. “Plus I have you for balance.”

The lounge is two floors down, but once they make it to the elevator, they relax a bit. Chilton loosens his grip around Will as the empath leans back on the elevator walls.

“We’re an odd couple, aren’t we?” Will laughs.

“We are,” Chilton tilts his head.

It isn’t until they’re stepping off the elevator that Will realizes the term he used.

And that Frederick  didn’t protest.

Will would normally overthink this, but he’s too tired to try. He isn’t gay, anyway, and he doesn’t think Chilton is either. They’re just friends, right?

He isn’t sure anymore. He’s just lucky to have someone else in this hospital with him, awake and caring.

There’s only a few other people in the lounge by the time the film starts. It’s been a long time since Will has seen a movie, so he lets himself delve into the story. That task is not always either for Will, especially when a character is one he can relate to. But in this case, Jay Gatsby’s style reminds him of Hannibal Lecter too much for that. He opens his mouth to make a joke about it to Frederick, but decides against it.

Right now, Will feels more like Nick Carraway; caught up in the middle of it all.

As much as Will attempts to focus on the film, he notices Chilton watching him more than the movie. But it doesn’t unsettle him.

Instead, Will offers his hand to the man sitting next to him.

Chilton takes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Domestic Willton I'm going to cry


End file.
